


Mama's Boy

by destielismylovesong



Series: Mama's Boy [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Crying Dean, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, In which I cry about Dean and Mary, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 04:44:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielismylovesong/pseuds/destielismylovesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You’re in love with him," she says in his ear, joining him where he stands in the doorway of the kitchen. Dean jumps, startled, and Mary’s hand closes over his shoulder in a tight squeeze. He squeezes back automatically before frowning. "I am not in love with him,” he whispers hotly. “That’s ridiculous, Mom.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Always Singing to You

**Author's Note:**

> On [ Tumblr ](http://ninetypercentgrace.tumblr.com/post/65520261289/youre-in-love-with-him-she-says-in-his-ear)

"You’re in love with him," she says in his ear, joining him where he stands in the doorway of the kitchen. Dean jumps, startled, and Mary’s hand closes over his shoulder in a tight squeeze. He squeezes back automatically before frowning.

"I am not in love with him,” he whispers hotly. “That’s ridiculous, Mom.”

He continues what he’d been doing, observing Castiel as he frowns at a recipe through the reading glasses he’d borrowed from Dean. He’d insisted on making dinner on his own, wanting to prove to himself- and the Winchesters and Kevin- that he’s a capable human.

Dean turns to his mother and forgets what he’d been about to say. Because she’s beautiful, and they only have a few hours left, and all he wants is to hug her, and rest his head on her shoulder, and fiercely whisper in her ear that he misses her.

Instead, he narrows his eyes and glares petulantly. “I’m not in love with him,” he repeats, but Mary just raises her eyebrows.

"Don’t you think it’s time to admit it, Dean?" she asks, her eyes warm with love for her eldest. "We’ve been meeting on this day every year since you came back- don’t you think I can see?"

Dean shrugs, trying to ignore the twinge of horror in his gut at her reference to his stint in hell. A stint he’d survived only by thinking of her. Mary Winchester. His mother. His beautiful mother- her halo of blonde hair, the laughter that escaped her lips in his dreams, her soft singing in his ear, her blue eyes that were identical to the ones currently reading a recipe in the kitchen.

He clears his throat and swallows down tears, and Mary smiles sympathetically. “Don’t you want to love him?” she asks him quietly. “Don’t you want to love someone who can be here every day?”

"I’ve got Sam," he mutters. "And Kevin," he adds, knowing how stupid he sounds. She raises her eyebrows again, and he feels like he’s four years old again. "And I’ve got you," he argues anyway.

"One day a year does not a mother make," Mary says softly.

Dean’s eyes jump up to hers in immediate protest. “Just because you’re gone doesn’t mean you’re not my mother,” he says, his voice shaky.

"No, no," she murmurs comfortingly, leaning forward, clasping his hands in her own. "Dean, sweetheart, that’s not what I meant." Dean exhales slowly, and Mary lets go. "You need someone," she tells him.

"He’s going to leave again anyway," Dean replies, turning back to see Castiel glaring at a bowl of pasta sauce and throwing in way too much salt.

"He loves you, too," Mary assures her son. "And he understands what it means now, to love someone as a human. He won’t leave."

"I kicked him out," Dean says, unable to meet her eyes as the guilt claws at him.

"You went out and found him and brought him back too," his mother reminds him. "He is your best friend and your everything. And you’re in love with him, Dean."

Dean inhales slowly before asking, dreading her answer. “What about you?” he asks with tears in his eyes. “Will you keep coming back if I let myself be with him?”

The locks of blonde hair wave in goodbye as she shakes her head slowly. “I came with you after hell because you needed me,” she says softly. “I stayed in your dreams and I came to visit you on my birthday each year because you needed me. Once a year, I cooked breakfast with you and listened to your worries about Sammy, and I told you stories about your father and sang you to sleep with Hey Jude. Because you needed me, Dean. But if you let him in…”

Her gaze sweeps past Dean to the man in the kitchen who’s on the phone with the pizza place, ordering two pies and fries. Dean grins reluctantly at the sight of Cas scratching his head and squinting at the recipe, still trying to make sense of it as the employee on the other end shouts for his attention.

Mary turns back to him. “If you let him in, and cook dinner with him, and talk to him about Sam, and tell him about your father, and sing him to sleep…”

Mother and son mirror each other as they both try to swallow back their tears. “If you let him in, Dean, I won’t need to come back anymore.”

"What if I want you to?" he asks, his voice rough with grief. "What if I don’t want to let him in, because I can’t lose you?"

"Do you really think I’d want that for you, honey?" Mary asks, and a tear spills down Dean’s cheek. "Don’t you think I want you to be happy?"

He musters a smile. “So you’re going to guilt me into telling him I love him,” he says, trying to joke the anguish away, but his mother just tilts her head and fixes her gaze on him.

"I’m so proud of you," she whispers, and Dean knows, even before she says it, that she’s leaving early this time. And that she’s not coming back. "I love you, Dean. Remember that I am always singing to you."

He blinks, and she’s gone, and he wants to slump down to the floor and cry, but he doesn’t. He turns back to the kitchen and watches Cas mutter into the phone as he remembers the first time Mary had come to him, just a few days after he’d clawed his way out of his grave.

It had been her birthday, and he’d been lighting a candle in her memory. Sam had been out, buying groceries, and he’d taken the opportunity to commemorate his mother the way John always had. Dean hadn’t known or understood why, but John had always kept it a secret, and when his father had been killed, it had been Dean who kept up the private tradition- lighting a candle in Mary’s memory and swearing to kill as many evil bastards as he could in her name.

But that year, instead of swearing to kill demons, Dean had lit the candle and cried, wishing for his mother to be alive for the first time since he’d been five. When he’d felt her hand on his shoulder, he’d known right away. Her soft voice in his ear had only made him cry harder.

Exhausted as he’d been, she’d sung him to sleep before Sam had returned, and then stayed by his bedside all night. He’d woken up to a note from Sam that he was going to pick up coffee, and Mary had stayed with him until Sam came back. Then, to his surprise, she’d stayed all day, present and quiet by his side, squeezing his hand and stroking his hair when he needed it.

He hadn’t questioned it, hadn’t questioned why Sam couldn’t see her, hadn’t asked Cas about it when he appeared in their lives. He hid her every year, like a selfish little boy, and he’d never regretted it.

But she’s gone now, he thinks. Hallucination or not, gift from an absent God or whatever, his mother is gone, and he’s alone again.

_You’re in love with him._

Except he’s not alone. Dean blinks away the last tears and steps into the kitchen, almost laughing as Cas turns tired eyes to him.

"I ordered pizza," the fallen angel says plaintively. "Although I think the man who answered the phone thinks I’m crazy."

Dean stops before him, leaning back on the counter, and watches appreciatively as Cas strips off his apron, stretching upwards to undo the knot at his neck.

"And why does the pizza man think you’re crazy?" Dean murmurs, stepping closer, his eyes drawn to the strip of skin that’s revealed as Cas stretches. The other man doesn’t notice, only sighs again and places the apron on the counter.

"I asked him to make sure that he doesn’t do anything to me that the pizza man in the video did," Cas responds.

Dean laughs out loud and reaches out, pulling him in closer, his hand wrapping around Cas’s. He catches Cas’s startled gaze and smiles.

"Why don’t we eat pizza tonight," he murmurs, taking another step closer and tentatively reaching out with his other hand, placing it on Cas’s back, waiting, waiting for Cas to pull back and ask him what the hell he’s doing.

_He loves you too._

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before leaning down, pressing his forehead to Cas’s. He feels Cas suck in his breath sharply, and smiles gently against his lips.

"Then tomorrow morning we can cook breakfast together," he murmurs, "and I can start teaching you how to hunt, the way my father taught me."

He kisses Cas fleetingly, their lips meeting for no more than a sweet second, and Cas’s hands come up to his shoulders, clinging as if he’d fall down without Dean’s support.

"Dean, would you…" He hesitates, and Dean kisses him again, just as gentle, encouraging him. "Would you also tell me about your mother?" Cas asks, and Dean nods, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.

"Yes," he gets out finally. "Yes, I’ll tell you about Mom."

Cas’s eyes smile and he tucks his head in under Dean’s chin. He wraps his arms around Dean’s waist, lacing their fingers together and squeezing tightly.

Mary smiles from the doorway.


	2. Happy Birthday, Mary Winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I didn’t know this was something you did," Cas murmurs in his ear. They stand together in front of Dean’s nightstand, watching as the flames from the candle dance over the picture of Mary Winchester that stands on Dean’s nightstand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On [ Tumblr ](http://ninetypercentgrace.com/post/65689135677/part-1-dean-takes-a-deep-breath-and-leans-over)

Dean takes a deep breath and leans over the nightstand, cupping the lighter he holds in his hand until the wick catches fire. He flicks the light switch and watches the candle, burning small and bright in the darkness of the room, before leaning back into Cas’s waiting arms. The ring on his finger glints in the firelight, and when the tears fall down his cheeks, he doesn’t stop them.

Cas squeezes his hand tightly, and for a moment, Dean can almost feel her hand around his. But the moment disappears, and he’s left with the warmth of Cas’s fingers threading through his.

"I didn’t know this was something you did," Cas murmurs in his ear. They stand together in front of Dean’s nightstand, watching as the flames from the candle dance over the picture of Mary Winchester that stands on Dean’s nightstand.

Dean hesitates, wondering if Cas would think he’s insane, wondering if this was a good idea, especially tonight of all nights. He makes a split-second decision before he can chicken out.

"I haven’t done it in a while," he admits slowly, hypnotized by the flames. "Dad didn’t know I’d watched him do it my whole life, but when he died, I took up the tradition. I kept it from Sam, same way Dad had done." He shrugs. "I felt guilty the first time, but I realized that I wasn’t feeling guilty over not letting him in on the tradition."

"It was guilt you couldn’t control," Cas says quietly, absolving him of all sins with his simple understanding. "Guilt that he never knew her, even though there was nothing you could do about it."

"Nothing," Dean says. "And I needed it. Needed…" Tears scratch at his throat, and he pushes them back. "I needed time with her, without him, as horrible as that soun-"

"It sounds completely normal," Cas reassures him, slipping one arm beneath Dean’s and wrapping around his waist. He kisses the back of Dean’s neck, and he shivers in response.

"But then," Dean continues, "after you-"

He pauses, fighting for words, and Cas hugs him tightly, waiting patiently.

"After you pulled me out," Dean whispers finally, "she came to me."

Cas stills, and Dean shrugs again, keeping his gaze glued to the fire, not wanting to see the look on the other man’s face. “I know, you think I’m crazy, but it’s true. She came once a year. It’s why I stopped lighting. I don’t know if it was real, or not, or a demon who was sucking my soul or a reaper messing with me for the hell of it-“

"It happens," Cas cuts in, and Dean stops, tilting his head back to meet Cas’s gaze. He sees only truth in his eyes, not pity, so he turns in his arms, wrapping his arms around Cas’s neck and laying his head on his shoulder.

The small flame continues to burn through the darkness as Cas explains. “It’s rare,” he says softly, one hand coming up to rub a gentle pattern at the nape of Dean’s neck. “When two loved ones are parted like that, so violently, so young-” he shudders, thinking of the little boy in his arms who’d lost his mama- “and one needs the other, needs them clearly and desperately…”

He kisses Dean’s temple. “It happens,” he says simply. “You weren’t crazy, you weren’t hallucinating, she wasn’t a ghost or an evil spirit. Your mother was here, Dean. With you.”

The man in his arms doesn’t say a word, just hangs on to him tightly. Cas holds him, thinking back on the last year, how they’d come together so easily, so simply- it had been as if they’d always been that way and everyone knew it but themselves. Not that there hadn’t been tough spots, of course. But tonight, Sam had officiated at their ceremony, a wedding under the stars, with Kevin and Charlie as their witnesses, and the tough spots- they’d faded under the moonlight.

"One time," Dean whispers, breaking into Cas’s thoughts, "Sam had no soul and you weren’t here, so when Mom’s birthday came around, I drove off for the day and spent it with her alone." He clears his throat, and Cas leans back, looking into his eyes. But Dean shakes his head, leaning his forehead against Cas’s and closing his eyes, and continues in a whisper.

"All the other times, I’d spent at least part of the day with other people, with Mom by my side," he explains. "But this day…" He smiles against Cas’s lips. "We got a whole twenty-four hours together, just us. Mom made breakfast, and we spent hours talking, and we listened to my music, and she promised me Sam would be okay, and we went for a drive, and I showed her Baby, and she was so proud of me, Cas."

He runs out of breath and takes Cas’s lips desperately, hot and needing. Cas cups his face in his hands, grounding the kiss, grounding Dean even as the emotions pour out of him into Cas’s soul.

"I cooked her dinner," Dean whispers when they part. "And she sang me to sleep." His voice cracks. "And when I woke up, she was gone."

"But she came back," Cas says quietly, and Dean nods.

"Three more times," he said, opening his eyes and meeting Cas’s. "Although the last time was more of an hour than a day." He looks away, biting his lip, and suddenly Castiel remembers that today isn’t just their wedding day-

"Our anniversary," he murmurs, everything dawning on him at once. Dean nods, and Cas tips his chin up, smiling at him in understanding.

"She told me that I was in love with you," Dean says, his smile widening into a grin. "I guess she was right."

"You guess?" Cas asks in mock outrage, lifting his hand and waving it in front of Dean’s face, watching the wedding band gleam in the candlelight. Dean takes his hand and kisses the ring gently, lifting his eyes up to meet Cas’s gaze, his own serious.

"I love you," he says quietly, and this time it’s Cas whose eyes prickle with tears.

"I love you too," he replies. The flames’ shadows flare up sharply and the candle hisses.

"I guess someone’s watching over us," Cas murmurs, reaching up for Dean’s lips.

"That is so, so creepy, man," Dean laughs into the kiss, and Cas swats his butt, sweeping him off his feet onto the bed, and falling on top of him with a loud  _oomph._

Dean presses his lips to Cas’s. “Happy anniversary, Cas,” he murmurs.

Cas leans back and looks down at him, watching as the fire lights up the forest of green that stares back up at him. “Happy birthday, Mary Winchester,” he says quietly, and Dean _doesn’t_  cry as he pulls his husband down to him.


	3. Blue Eyes and Three People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tears clog Cas’s throat, and he struggles to speak past them. “Sometimes, I still don’t understand what it is to be a human,” he finally gets out. “What it is to die and never come back, to watch the person you love cry for a mother you never even got to know.” Mary turns away from his daughter and, to his surprise, wraps him in a hug before he can protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On [ Tumblr. ](http://ninetypercentgrace.com/post/65944343760/part-1-part-2-hey-jude-cas-croons-smiling)

"Hey Jude," Cas croons, smiling at the gurgle she makes as she reaches up to grab his glasses. The rocking chair swings back and forth as he sings. "Don’t make it bad. Take a sad song, and make it better." He leans back out of her reach, and she smiles up at him as she lowers her arms, tired and content to listen to her papa sing.

"Remember to let her into your heart," he sings softly. Eyelids droop over sky-blue eyes-  _"Dean, she can’t have my eyes, it’s physically impossible, she’s **adopted** ”_\- and he continues to rock back and forth slowly, steadily, until she falls asleep to the end of the second verse.

"Then you begin to make it better," he ends on a murmur. He watches her sleep in his arms for a moment before standing, careful not to wake her, and places her in the crib he’d made for her.

"Happy six month birthday, Mary Winchester." He kisses her forehead and then stills, knowing someone is in the room with them, someone who isn’t Dean.

”She has your eyes,” says a female voice, and he turns, ready to attack even as he wonders how a demon managed to get into the bunker. But he stops and stares instead, and the first words he speaks to Mary Winchester come out annoyed and frustrated.

"That’s impossible," he says, frowning. "Dean says the same thing, and I don’t know why you both persist in perpetuating that fantasy."

Mary laughs and steps out of the corner of the room, towards Cas and the crib. He stands in front of it, his arms spread protectively in front of his daughter, wishing, for the first time in years, for his fearsome wings. He’s still wary, suspicious of this appearance despite Dean’s stories of her past visits.

"I won’t hurt her, Castiel," Mary says, her voice quiet even as she stops moving towards him. Tears come to his eyes as she says his name, because, he thinks suddenly, she says his name the same way Dean does. He drops his arms, wanting to call out for his husband, but Mary shakes her head.

"I’m here to talk to you," she explains, tilting her head. He mirrors her subconsciously, his expression confused, and she laughs, taking the last few steps towards him and the crib. She leans over it, her arms crossed on the top bar, and watches her namesake with misty eyes.

"A long time ago," she says softly, "a demon stood over my son’s crib the same way I’m standing now. He poisoned him with his own blood, and I died trying to protect him."

She looks up at him, and he thinks dimly to himself about fate and blood and blue eyes and three people, all seemingly unconnected and yet still, now, for a moment, surrounded by the same four walls.

"Family don’t end with blood," she says with a smile, and he doesn’t even wonder how she’d known what he was thinking.

"Sometimes," she continues quietly, "everything else ends because of blood."

"Sam is still here," Cas responds swiftly, trying to reassure the mother of his husband. "So is Dean. So am I, and so is your granddaughter."

"And me? And John? Your fallen brothers and sisters?" Mary questions. Cas flinches, but she lays a hand on his arm, as if to say  _it’s okay, none of this is your fault, you are absolved of all blame_. “All because a drop of blood was fed to an infant with a mother too wishful of another kind of life to protect him.”

"Once, I stood where we stand now," she says, her voice softening. "And then came the flames, and my boys stood in grief." She pauses. "All of my boys."

He looks up, stunned, and she gives him a knowing look. “Family don’t end with blood,” she repeats to him. “Even when family has never met, and one cries for the mother of his husband, for the tragedy of never having gotten to feel her warmth or see her hold their child.”

Tears clog Cas’s throat, and he struggles to speak past them. “Sometimes, I still don’t understand what it is to be a human,” he finally gets out. “What it is to die and never come back, to watch the person you love cry for a mother you never even got to know.”

Mary turns away from his daughter and, to his surprise, wraps him in a hug before he can protest. He allows it, allows himself to feel a mother’s love and learn what it means, after four years of humanity and a hundred million years of grace. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until she rubs his back soothingly.

"You have pulled both of my sons out of hell," she whispers in his ear. "You have saved them time and time again, and you let them save you. You fell from grace in the hopes of a better earth and sky, in the hopes of a better home, and despite all the wrong turns you took on your way to redemption, you still chose to take the right turn into Dean’s arms and the life that you have with him. And that is more than any mother could ask for, Castiel Winchester."

"Because many things ended," she says softly, "but the world didn’t, and that is thanks to you." He hangs on to her tightly, and they stand there until little Mary cries out in her sleep. They both turn as one out of the hug, looking into the crib to see her, awake again and reaching up for them.

"May I?" Mary asks, and Cas nods mutely, watching as she reaches in and pulls his daughter out, holding her in her arms. Little Mary quiets immediately, transfixed by the halo of her grandmother’s hair, reaching up to grab fistfuls in her tiny hands.

"Mom?" 

They turn around again, towards the doorway, and Mary smiles as Sam steps into the room, mesmerized, looking as if he’d stepped into a dream.

"Cas, Sam, we were supposed to put her to sleep together!" They hear Dean call out from the hallway before he walks into the room and stops mid-stride, staring.

"Mom?" he echoes Sam, and she smiles, rocking little Mary back and forth slightly, before placing her back in the crib gently.

"Castiel was singing Mary to sleep when I interrupted," she tells them. "I was going to join him." She holds out her hands, and her sons step forward hesitantly, their hands slipping into hers naturally, as if she’d been there their whole lives. 

Cas stands on Dean’s other side and grips his hand tightly, smiling when Mary slips her hand out of Dean’s to wrap her arm around both their waists. 

"Hey Jude," she begins to sing, and little Mary giggles up at her, reaching up to grab at the long blonde hair that falls into the crib.

"Don’t make it bad," Dean joins his mother, and she smiles up at him, her eyes misty with tears.

"Take a sad song," Sam sings. Cas accompanies them, "And make it better."

"Remember to let her into your heart," they all sing. "Then you can start to make it better."

They quiet as Mary continues to sing softly to her granddaughter.

"Hey Jude,   
Don’t be afraid.   
You were made to   
Go out and get her.  
The minute you let her under your skin   
Then you begin to make it better.”

Mary stops and turns to face them, taking three hands into her own and smiling ethereally before disappearing from their midst. 

——

_"And any time you feel the pain,_   
_Hey Jude, refrain,_   
_Don’t carry the world upon your shoulders.”_


End file.
